


Empyrean [Abandoned Work]

by divybread



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Afterlife, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Grim Reapers, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-05 07:58:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18824470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divybread/pseuds/divybread
Summary: The woman looks at him with sad eyes, but even in death she stays mute. After a long moment, she nods, then slowly lets go of the child in her lap, laying it back to rest on the soft blankets.As the child rolls over, eyes fluttering open, the barrier flickers. Two intensely blue eyes look right at the young man, staring straight into his very soul. Then the child closes her eyes again and goes right back to sleep, unaware of the destruction she’s wrought on the veil.It’s with a sudden sense of dread that the blond male takes the woman’s hand and leads her back to the church, so she can walk up the stairs.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> so i have once again started writing something. it is a perhaps slightly incoherent follow-up of small pieces of writing that i hope will make some sort of sense to the reader regardless. still, i'm writing this just because i wanted to write about something like this, not because i'm attempting to make a proper story. start reading at your own risk, i guess?

The lights in the bar are dim, bulbs clouded by the dust and dirt of years uncleaned, no mirrors adorning the walls to reflect what little light does manage to be sent out. A single coin rolls over the floor, stopped by the heavy black boot that suddenly steps down on it, effectively clearing out the last of the noise.

It’s hidden eyes that take in the scene, a few locks of silver hair poking out from underneath the dark hood that covers the person’s face. The silence seems to deepen until the absence of sound is so full and complete that it is deafening in its very own way.

It is into that absolute oblivion that the words are spoken.

“You can come out now, Uriel, it’s all over.”

From behind the bar counter, an older man’s head pokes out, eyes fearfully taking in the scene. It’s not long before surprise replaces the earlier terror, quickly followed by disbelief as the man pushes himself up entirely from behind the counter and takes in the now suddenly unblemished bar.

“Wh- What happened? Where did everyone go?” His voice falters for a moment, but it’s with renewed fear that his eyes move over to the darkly clad person, the only other one there in the room with him.

“It’s not about where everyone else went, Uriel, it’s where _you_ went.”

With that, the man pushes his hood back, and Uriel screams.

 

“Another one?”

The hooded man shrugs lightly, but there’s a smirk audible in his voice when he replies to the rhetorical question.

“The party don’t stop till I walk in.”

It’s never very hard to get a laugh out of Gabriel, luckily, and the hooded man gives a nod of his head towards the old man stumbling down the road a little way away.

“Named after your brother, I’d say,” is offered as an explanation for the quite angelical name. “Too bad he didn’t decide to stick to the same rules as Uriel, or he would not have been walking down the road right now rather than up the stairs.

Gabriel becomes too occupied with not laughing out loud to say anything more, waving a single hand to dismiss the cloaked figure across from him.

Within seconds, the angel is alone once more.

 

It’s dark outside when he pushes open the church doors, light spilling out from behind him, uninterrupted by his presence. He calmly goes down the steps of the impressive building, crossing the street and heading into one of the many small buildings along the road.

As he sets a hand on the door, the young man runs a hand through his blond locks. The white robe cascades down in an uninterrupted flow, the hood remaining down. Inside the room, a woman looks up from where she’s sitting, cradling a young child in her lap. Her eyes widen at the sight of him, then flash down towards her child.

The young man smiles at her reassuringly, crouching in front of her and reaching out a hand towards the woman.

“I’m not here for her,” he says, voice soft and filled with care. “But it is about time you leave now. They’re coming to get her soon enough and you know you have to let her go.”

The woman looks at him with sad eyes, but even in death she stays mute. After a long moment, she nods, then slowly lets go of the child in her lap, laying it back to rest on the soft blankets.

As the child rolls over, eyes fluttering open, the barrier flickers. Two intensely blue eyes look right at the young man, staring straight into his very soul. Then the child closes her eyes again and goes right back to sleep, unaware of the destruction she’s wrought on the veil.

It’s with a sudden sense of dread that the blond male takes the woman’s hand and leads her back to the church, so she can walk up the stairs.

 

“Your hair’s a different colour.”

The hooded man whirls around as the words are spoken, knowing beyond certainty that he is being addressed despite the unlikeliness of such an event. Across from him stands a young boy, lollipop in hand, surprisingly golden brown eyes focused right on him.

“Excuse me?” He says, unable to give a more proper answer because of the situation.

“It was red, last time I saw you.”

This, especially the utter certainty with which the boy is speaking, roots him in place, and he looks at the boy for a few very long moments without saying anything.

“Are you here for my grandpapa?”

The hooded man turns his gaze to the building, seeing beyond the walls to where he will have to go tonight. As he looks back at the boy, there is a slight slump of his shoulders and a hand comes up to tuck a few stray strands of silver hair back into the hood.

“No, my boy, I’m not here for your grandpapa.”

It seems to be all the reassurance the boy needs, because he nods, sticks the lollipop back in his mouth and gives a little wave before running off.

The hooded man stands looking after the boy a while longer before finally being able to return to his job.

 

“Who’s this then?” Gabriel asks, motioning vaguely at the man he has just set to walking down the road. The hooded man shakes his head lightly but doesn’t respond. The hood is down again, revealing a stern face, almost sparkling silver hair and a set of very dark eyes.

The angel raises an eyebrow taking in his old acquaintance, then simply jots down a few words in the book on his table. “I wish you wouldn’t keep that face when you come here. Sometimes it scares the shit out of even me.”

This finally pulls a hint of a smile from the silver haired man, eyes turning hard as he lifts his gaze to stare right at the angel.

“Why, Gabriel, are you saying you have dark secrets to hide?” The voice is mocking, daring the angel to contradict it. But the angel merely grins, although there is a visible level of discomfort as well with the way the near black eyes are boring into him.

“That is hardly a surprise, my old friend,” the angel says, giving a nod towards the desk and the mountains of paper piled up on it. “Why else would I be stuck here having to read and classify all your reports?”

For a moment longer the eyes remain fixed on the angel, then the man pulls up his hood, shrouding his face in the darkness again. Within seconds he is gone.

 

“How long ago since you last relaxed, Ophaestes?”

It’s as if all the muscles in the man’s back tighten at once at the question, the head turning slowly to meet the gaze of the other male.

“How long ago since you last learned my business is none of yours, Icarus?”

The pure venom in the hooded man’s voice is enough to make the other one physically recoil, quickly putting ample distance between the two of them. Not long after, however, a glass is put down on the counter next to the hooded man’s and someone takes a seat on the empty stool there.

“In a bad mood again, are we, Carver?”

The woman who takes a seat smirks at him without fear, despite the menacing growl that leaves the hooded man’s lips.

“Not going to scare me away with those parlour tricks, I know better. Now, tell me, what’s gotten your knickers all twisted?”

For a moment there’s silence, then the hooded man sighs.

“Three centuries since the girl, Lilith,” he says after a moment, muscles relaxing as he picks up his glass to have another sip. “You and I both know something went wrong with the veil and I don’t know what.”

The fallen angel lets out a huff, clearly unbothered by the entire situation regardless of the severity of it. “Icarus isn’t wrong, my friend. You need to relax. When’s the last time you went out just to have some fun?” Despite the hood covering the man’s face, even Lilith tenses up ever so slightly when the man looks at her, ready to respond to any sort of attack that might follow.

But after a moment the hooded man turns his head away again.

“I was not made to have fun.”

 

“Who are you?”

He turns around, hand automatically curled into a fist, ready to defend himself if need be. But all he is faced with is a small boy, hardly older than two, one hand holding on tightly to a plush toy, the other one rubbing the remainders of sleep out of light brown eyes.

Suddenly suspicion enters the boy’s eyes and he glances back at the room he just came from. When the boy looks back at the hooded man, the eyes fixate on the few locks of red hair that peek out from underneath the hood.

“Mommy says not to trust strangers.”

The hooded man disappears before the boy can make another sound, turning a corner so he can return to his business without interruptions.

 

“My brother, you should lay your troubles aside for a while and feast with us.”

The hooded man looks up at the angel to his left, actual amusement colouring his smile as he then turns to look at the one on his right. Munkar and Nakir are near mirror images of each other, with their hammers in hand, black eyes and tongues of fire. But neither of them scares him any more than he scares them, and perhaps that is what he likes so much about them.

“You have guided many souls through our gates so far, perhaps it is time you rest.”

He shakes his head, black hair shifting with the movement, even as it remains hidden in the depths of his hood.

“Who will guide the souls if I rest, my brothers? Who will show them the way? Who will take them to where they have to go?” Another shake of his head as he shifts his stance from one foot to the other, dipping into a bow shortly after.

“I have to take my leave again. Peace be upon you, my brothers.”


	2. Confusion

There is no sound as he slowly makes his way down the street, hands tucked into his pockets, leather jacket loosely fitting his frame. The sound of his breathing is the only thing audible in the area around him.

Until it isn’t.

“You’re quite the busy man, aren’t you?”

The dagger is in his hand before the sentence is even finished, head snapping up so his eyes can meet those of whoever’s talking to him. It’s not strange for children to speak to him, they’ve always had the ability to spot him even when he’s not touching their world per se, but this voice is that of a teenager and the few of _those_ that can see him are not usually ones he likes.

This young man, however, is not someone he recognises, not someone he thinks he knows at all. And for a moment he is horrified of what might be seen of him, until he remembers the almost absolute darkness that surrounds them. The most this youngster will glimpse is the reflection of the streetlight on a few strands of his blond hair.

“I don’t believe I know what you’re talking about.”

The youngster breathes out a smile, motioning his head towards the house while slender fingers bring a cigarette up to soft, pink lips. “You took my father last time. Who is it you’re coming for now? Is it perhaps finally time for the old hag to go?”

He cocks his head slightly to the right, taking in the teenager and the cloud of cigarette smoke that spills from his lips, temporarily clouding the boy’s face from view.

“Now I’m certain I have no idea,” he says, huffing out his disbelief as he sets himself back into motion. He doesn’t let go of the dagger until he’s left the street again but can’t shake the memory of those eyes for a long time after.

 

“Carver, for real, my man. You’ve gotten boring. What has gotten into you lately? I hardly get to see you anymore, you’re never up for doing the fun stuff. You haven’t even let me be there when you go to get one of ours out. What’s wrong?”

He frowns, shifts his gaze from the glass of liquor to the angel on his left.

“Perhaps I’m just tired of you, Lilith?”

She throws her head back and laughs like he’s just made the best joke ever. She probably really thinks it is, and he’s not sure he can blame her overmuch for that either.

“If you need entertainment so badly, why don’t you go bug your brother? I’m sure Gabriel could use a reprieve from aeons of paperwork just the same.”

At those words, Lilith makes a face, a near growl leaving her throat that he completely ignores.

“Imagine,” he says, dismissing her presence with a simple wave of his hand. “Perhaps _that_ is exactly how I feel about you.”

 

“I’ve been curious for a while, Deliverer,” Yamaraja sits quietly next to him, hands curled in his lap, eyes closed. He holds quite the same position as the god at his side. “You can’t be touched by any of us, unlinked to any religion or other boundaries.” The god turns his head to look over at him. “So what stops you from breaking the rules?”

He smiles at that, the expression taking over his features without his express approval, simply because it is Yama asking him. With many others he might not have deemed it worthy of a reply, but the several hours of meditation they have behind them have perhaps made him more open to conversation.

“I may not be tied to any of you, but I certainly have boundaries. And if I break any of the rules, I am punished just the same, even if none of you all is responsible for it. The universe has its own laws and I work according to them.”

Yama hums pensively, never once breaking his meditative pose.

“Have you always been as you are now? Or was there another before you?”

This question gives him actual pause, and for a while there is complete silence between them again. Until eventually he breathes out a slow sigh.

“I don’t know. Perhaps there was another before me. Perhaps there are others at the same time as me. I’ve never given it any thought. I just do my job.”

“Doesn’t it tire you, Deliverer?”

He huffs out a little chuckle, the meditation entirely done now as he stretches his limbs back out and looks over at the god at his side.

“Does this job tire you, old friend?”

Yamaraja’s gaze finds his after a moment, mutual amusement flickering between them until the god suddenly turns serious again.

“Ah, but I am not human as you are.”

 

“Why did you not tell me!?”

Gabriel flinches as his eyes flash the darkest of blacks, the angel recoiling ever so slightly from the intensity of his gaze, but he is not out to read the desk angel’s secrets. If it were even remotely possible for him to _kill_ though, perhaps he would be killing this one right now.

“Why did none of you ever see fit to tell me that I am… I _was_ human!? WHY!?”

It’s only when both Michael _and_ Lilith suddenly move to stand between him and Gabriel that he realises the younger brother is curled up into a ball, wings curled protectively around himself, whimpering under the intensity of his gaze.

He takes a step back automatically, recollecting himself, taking in the way both the arch angel and the fallen one stand side by side in this very moment, ready to take him on if the need should arise. That they feel the fight would take the both of them goes to say something about how powerful they believe him to be, but he is not willing to test their theories.

Instead he turns his anger on them as well, watches Michael flinch and even Lilith’s usual steadfastness falters for a split second. Not long enough to be noticed by anyone else, but there nonetheless.

He scoffs at them both, barely repressing the urge to spit on the ground in front of them as he turns to leave.

“Pathetic.”

 

He moves through the streets with strong, decisive steps, completely disregarding any of his surroundings because they don’t matter to him in that moment. The mortals can’t see him anyway, walking on the soul’s plane as he is, and he’s pretty sure none of the deities or henchmen will lay a hair’s width in his way in this very moment.

Which is why the hand suddenly being put on his arm startles him all the more, the fingers digging into his arm as he is pulled right from his path and nearly thrown into a wall.

“Oh no you don’t!”

The young man he is faced with looks at him with a face contorted with sadness and hatred mingled together. Golden brown eyes look at him with such a piercing intensity he is reminded of an event that happened near three and a half centuries before.

“I didn’t quite mind you taking my father, he didn’t amount to anything much anyway. But you took my mother next instead of the old hag, I’m not letting you take anything else. Haven’t I lost enough?”

The hands shove at his chest, and he becomes suddenly aware of the sting of bricks in his back, the bruise forming on his chest from where the young man’s hands are hitting him rather harshly.

“Haven’t I _suffered_ enough? What more do you want me to give to you? What more do you need?”

Suddenly the anger breaks and the young man starts crying instead. The hands that were shoving at him just moments ago now have a tight grip on his shirt, as if that is going to help keep the young male on his feet. It’s but a moment later when he feels the hot wetness of tears against his skin, however, and that is when old instincts finally make him lift his arms, wrapping them tightly around the stranger and holding the young male while the sadness spills out in uncontrollable sobs.

 

The silence is almost deafening, a heavy weight on his shoulders that doesn’t go away no matter the amount of excuses he gives himself for all of his behaviour.

He should have just comforted the young man, that’s the simple truth. He should have just used years of comforting the souls of the dead before their journeys on to give this young human some sense of peace, a hint of wisdom.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he’d looked over at the house and seen the truth he hadn’t even been aware of until the young man had pointed it out; there was someone inside that needed his guidance.

And now here he stands, with the young man in a chair in the corner of the room, exhaustion having carried him off to sleep, and the young man’s grandfather hovering halfway between living and death.

“I don’t grant requests, old man.”

His hair is still silver, his eyes still dark and unforgiving, but it’s too late now to take on the right shape. Still, the old man doesn’t seem bothered at all by the threatening aura of his current features, even if there is no hood to hide them in the shadows.

“Time to go.”

He pushes himself up from the wall, walking over to the door without hesitation. Once more there are fingers suddenly curling around his wrist, but this time their hold isn’t harsh, this time they are not there to cause him pain. Instead he looks over into soft golden-brown eyes, red with unshed tears and nights unslept.

“Please don’t go. I’m not ready for it yet.”

He doesn’t grant requests, he really doesn’t.

But he doesn’t pull his wrist from the young male’s grip either.

 

“D-do you have a name?”

Gabriel clearly isn’t over their earlier encounter yet, but he pretends not to notice the hesitation, nor the clearly visible fear written on the angel’s features. His face is hidden within the folds of the cloak again, his gaze focused on something to the right of Gabriel’s desk.

“Didn’t stop to ask. Why don’t you ask him yourself? This one’s taking the stairs anyway.”

He glances at the old man as he says those words and finds himself greeted by a warm smile. It’s the first soul since he can remember that doesn’t stand transfixed by the stairs after being faced with them, and so he looks at the old man a moment longer in surprise.

“Thank you for not ruining him,” the old man says, in a voice that spans even the great distance between them without being raised. He quickly shakes his head as if to clear it of the words he just heard.

“Be careful, though, this one’s keen on asking for favours.”

 

“We heard what happened, my brother.”

Munkar and Nakir flank him on each side, the same way they always do, looking out at the road with him. One of the brothers puts a hand on his shoulder, causing a tremor to go through his body even though he feels none of the associated fear.

“We really think you should feast with us, brother.”

He smiles, grateful for their concern, about ready to decline the offer. Until he stops and thinks; why the hell not? So that’s exactly what he tells them.

“Oh, why the hell not, right? Let us feast!”


	3. Discovery

He is slow to return to awareness after his time with the brothers, simply going about his job without much thought or conscious decision making. The angels learn to relax in his presence again, the brothers praise his skill for decades after, the gods merely smile in benevolent amusement. None of it really registers, none of it really matters.

Until he is snatched back into awareness with a single word, the utterance of it slamming him down into the world of the living with such finality that he temporarily feels it to his very core.

“Hello.”

There’s a pause in which all of eternity seems to be compressed into that one single moment, and then the voice adds: “Again.”

He turns his head, soft black hair easily moving along with the motion, temporarily hiding his eyes from view, long enough for him to hide a little deeper into the hood he’s wearing.

“It’s been a long time.”

He looks at the old man standing a few steps away from him, heavily leaning on the walking stick, looking in his direction with a smile on his face that could almost be called fond.

“Have you come for me, then, old friend?”

He’s certain he doesn’t know this man, certain they are not friends, nor have they ever been, but the conviction with which the white-haired man says those words gives him a moment’s pause regardless.

Suddenly the man’s expression shifts, the warmth making place for what looks like sudden realisation. One that he wishes he could feel as well, because he has no idea what’s going on in this very moment.

“You don’t remember, do you? Or is it…” For a moment those eyes take him in with an uncomfortable level of intensity, and he wonders how it is that this old man seems to be able to look right into his eyes despite the hood’s cover.

“You don’t know yet. That’s okay.” The old man smiles once more, carefully walking closer and all the while leaning heavily on his walking stick. “Just grant me your presence on this final walk of mine, would you?”

He gives a nod of his head as the only response.

 

“It is so rare for me to see you these days, Cerberus.” Hades looks at him with that warm smile reserved only for the queen of the Underworld and him. He can’t help but smile back, although he is aware the expression lacks sincerity.

“Come. Sit. Tell me what is wrong. Pomegranate?”

This does manage to pull a chuckle from him, although it’s slightly bitter.

“You know that no matter how many of those you feed me, it won’t make me stay, Hades.”

The god of the Underworld sends him an easy grin accompanied by a shrug of the shoulders.

“One can only try, my friend. Who knows? Perhaps one day it _will_ work. Now, tell me what is wrong. Persephone would have my hide if I let you leave without at least attempting to acquire some titbits of information about you. Especially with this gloom around you.”

He looks at the Greek god for a long time, wondering how much it would be wise to divulge, then deciding that if anyone can be trusted to keep their mouth shut, it would be Hades.

“I feel like I’m unravelling, Hades, and I don’t know what to do about it.”

 

It’s been a long time since he last settled down in a place where he can look at the stars for longer than just catching a glimpse, so he is surprised by how pretty they continue to be no matter how much time he’s had to take them in. This time, when the footsteps come closer, he does become aware of them, and he turns his head just in time to look up at the young man who comes to a halt a few steps away from him.

They establish eye contact, in that way that he hasn’t really done in years because he’s not been in the world of the living all that often lately, at least not on their plane. For a long moment he waits to see what will happen, then suddenly feels that all too familiar shift inside that tells him he’s been given a name now, that he has become an actual someone to this man.

“It’s good to see you again,” the young man says, brushing some leaves aside with his foot before moving to sit down. It’s only then that he realises who he’s talking to; the young man with the dying grandfather. Which is … nearly impossible considering that was nearly a century ago. But here he is; barely a few years older than the last time they met.

“Don’t worry,” the young man says, smiling at him reassuringly. “You’re not going crazy. You’re just losing grip on our time. You’ve been inside your head too long, it’s not good for you – or anyone, really.”

The words make no sense and yet he feels somehow calmer, as if that explains everything.

“My name is Yixing. They say three time’s the charm, but I was never one for doing things the normal way. I’m glad we can meet at about the same levels of clueless for a change.” There’s a smile shown then, especially for him, and he takes in the way it dimples the young man’s cheeks for a moment, unable to really process what’s going on here.

Then the man reaches out a hand, putting it on his leg.

“It’s okay. You’ll be fine.”

 

He doesn’t remember the last time he stayed in one place for this long, anchored to the grassy hill with the young man next to him, their hands linked together for reasons he has yet to figure out.

But it feels more peaceful than he has felt in aeons, so he stays right there, ignoring the small tugs that tell him there is work to be done. There is always work to be done, after all, and never a big issue if he leaves it waiting a little longer. Souls don’t disappear. They may start roaming around a little, perhaps haunt the place they died at for a while, but that’s the worst they can do.

So he doesn’t have to feel guilty about ignoring his duties for a little bit. Which is probably why he doesn’t.

Yixing shifts in his position right then, turning to look at him. Once more there’s a smile, and he wonders exactly how many times they’ve met before, when their paths have crossed. He wonders why this young man has such an impact on him, why the world doesn’t seem to work the way he remembers it to anymore.

The hand he’s holding squeezes his gently, pulling his gaze towards it. When he realises there’s a smile on his face as well, he figures he should pull away now and do whatever it is he needs to do.

He doesn’t.

 

“Yifan.”

The name stops him dead in his tracks. How long ago since someone gave him an actual name, since it wasn’t the first term associated with him that became what they would call him? But this name, so startlingly familiar for some reason, is almost like a real identity. Almost like he will be able to fit himself into it without issue and live with it for the rest of eternity.

He turns his head towards the young man, dark brown eyes locking with golden brown ones. There is nothing bitter in those orbs anymore now, nothing harsh or hateful. There is still sadness, but for some reason he knows it is not for what he’s off to do, but more so for the fact that _he_ has to do it.

“Come and find me if you need someone.”

A pause. A shrug of shoulders.

“You shouldn’t be alone all the time.”

 

The job is endless. It’s always been endless, but somehow it feels all the more endless now. He brings souls to their destinations. To Gabriel, to Munkar and Nakir, to Anubis, to Hades, to Yamaraja, to the stream of rebirth, to oblivion. He makes the trip over and over, gathering souls from every corner of the world, delivering them to their final destination, wherever they might believe that is.

Lilith no longer bugs him about free time, Gabriel is still hesitant to crack a smile around him. He doesn’t know whether he should be worried or pleased that Persephone hasn’t tried to put a collar on him in a while, or that Icarus hasn’t dared to do as much as look at him anymore.

He doesn’t know whether the brothers are right, and he should feast, or whether he should just leave behind him the revelation of his own being. He doesn’t know if the world has changed or if he has, but nothing feels the same anymore.

And still he keeps guiding souls, fetching the bad lives with his menacing black eyes and his sharp silver hair, plying the soft-hearted ones with his blond locks and boyish charm, gathering those in need of neutrality with his red locks and emotionless expression. There’s the occasional soul, those completely at peace, that he does not have to wear a disguise for, that he can fetch while his hair is black and his eyes are golden.

They come few and far in between.

He feels lost.

 

It is strange to enter a house when there is no one for him to gather. Strange to set foot upon a staircase that does not lead to a dead soul but merely to a living one. He takes the steps one by one, listening to the hollow thuds of his feet on concrete as he goes. When he reaches the right floor, he does the next most unimaginable thing; he rings the doorbell.

“Yifan!” It’s pure, undiluted happiness that shines in those golden-brown eyes upon seeing him on the other side of the door. A hand is reached out to pull him inside, the door pushed closed behind him. Then suddenly he’s got an armful of Yixing and even more suddenly he is being kissed.

He freezes in place, not knowing what’s going on, all of his muscles tensing up to prepare a defence strategy. Luckily the young man seems to get the hint because he pulls away rather quickly, eyes wide in what first is slight hurt but then – quite quickly, he should add – shifts into horrified realisation.

“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry. You’re not… I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to. I thought…” There are a few vague hand motions that he presumes are attempting to indicate what has just transpired, then the young man stands a bit forlorn in his own hallway, cheeks flushing and eyes temporarily looking everywhere but at him.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, forcing his muscles to relax again, slowly coming to grips with what has just happened himself. “You, uh… You said I should come find you if I needed someone.”

He has never needed _anyone_ , it’s the cornerstone of who he is. Now he watches Yixing’s eyes widen, a new kind of realisation settle in the young man’s expression, before a smile follows that lights up Yixing’s entire face.

“Yes. I did. I’m glad you’re here.”

 

He sits on the rather new sofa with a drink in hand, peering down into the glass of – what did the boy say it was again? Something not alcoholic enough for his taste, but he isn’t about to go complain. Yixing sits next to him, ample distance between them that allows them to look at each other should they want to, but they both don’t.

“So…” He says after a long-lasting silence. “You uh… We…?”

Yixing smiles, a soft chuckle following even. “Yeah,” is the response he gets. “Sorry about that. I saw you four days in a row, so I didn’t think to check anymore.”

He doesn’t know what to think about ‘four days in a row’ or the fact that Yixing has seen him when he most definitely hasn’t seen the young man. So he sighs lightly, dragging fingers over his forehead. “Could you tell me about it? Like… When did this start?”

Yixing hums lightly, clearly a bit reluctant. “You said that if I tell you about it you could start remembering future events and that it might be dangerous. So I’m not sure how much I can tell you. But it all really started when you came to get nana.”

He looks at the young man sitting in the couch for a long time, not saying anything more, and somehow Yixing does not get uncomfortable under his gaze or because of the silence.

That is the first time in a long time, too.


	4. Acquainting

“They’re together.” Yixing laughs, a surprisingly freeing sound that is accompanied by fingers running through his hair. He’s not entirely sure what to think of it, but lets it happen anyway. His head has somehow ended up in the young man’s lap as well and the feeling of those fingers running over his scalp is soothing in a way he has never before experienced.

“That makes even less sense,” he states after a moment, motioning a hand at the television. “If they’re together then why do they fight so much?”

There’s a huff, some choked back laughter as Yixing attempts to not drown in the sip of water he’s just taken. A few moments later, there is a soft slap on his shoulder.

“We’re together too and look at how good _we_ are at fighting.”

He tenses up again, every muscle in his body preparing his fight or flight response. The hand in his hair stills a split second later and he feels the body beneath him tense up as well.

“That is not… I mean…” Yixing grows absolutely quiet, hardly even breathing anymore, and he needs a moment to realise the few strands of hair that hang before his eyes have taken on a different colour, a silver colour. He closes his eyes instantly, turns his face away from the young man, unwilling to have that side of him revealed just yet – if ever.

There’s a tense moment of silence, and then suddenly the fingers continue the soothing circles on his scalp and the tension seeps out of his muscles in the few heartbeats that follow.

“It’s okay,” he says quietly, still keeping his eyes closed even though he can feel Yixing relax again too. “I’m sorry.”

 

He takes a certain kind of pleasure in dragging the bad seeds from their houses, using the mere force of his presence to terrify them, taking them shouting and screaming from the life they so covet to where judgement or oblivion awaits them. That’s the best part about fetching these souls; they are all afraid of what comes next.

What he most definitely does not include in his idea for a job well done is that voice cutting right through the centre of it.

“Yifan?”

He turns automatically to the sound of his name, heedless in that split moment of the blackness of his eyes and the menace that still shines out of every bit of his expression alone. Yixing backs away so suddenly and violently that he slams into a wall, eyes wide with terror.

“Wh- What are you doing?”

The growl starts in the back of his throat, a feral sort of sound that warns anyone to steer clear. He doesn’t waste any time on formulating a response, it doesn’t matter anyway. Without missing a beat, he turns his attention back to the soul at his side, dragging him away from the world of the living with a final tug and disappearing into places where no living human could ever roam.

The shrill shrieks that accompany his departure are but a fragment of everything he has gotten used to over centuries, so he doesn’t pay them any attention.

 

“You told me I am human,” he says to the god. His voice is level, unhindered by emotion. There is a reason he waited this long to come see Yamaraja again. “How do you know?”

The god smiles at him, that knowing smile, that expression that both reassures him and yet sends him rushing to the edge of anger. He doesn’t like being looked at like other people know something he doesn’t. He doesn’t like being kept in the dark, no matter what the stories say about him.

“I’ve dealt with humanity since the beginning of time, Deliverer. You’d think I could recognise one if he spent hours meditating with me, no?”

He hums, allowing the hackles he already raised automatically to settle back down.

“I guess so,” he agrees reluctantly, unwilling to accept that as the final answer, but also not willing to try and push the god for more. Yama is one of the few he still has a relatively good relationship with, after all, and there’s only so many he can handle cowering at his arrival.

“Things will become clear in time, Deliverer. Try not to rush them too much, it might only make things worse for you.”

He looks over at the god, humming lightly in unspoken disbelief.

“If you say so, Yama.”

 

Decades pass, and yet when he steps out into a field of cherry trees, he breathes in air that is still the same. His grip on time is getting worse, but he can’t help it. He goes where he is pulled, _when_ he is pulled. It makes him wonder how the deities know to keep track, though, if he’s delivering souls from so many different times.

“Yifan.”

It shouldn’t rattle through him so violently, shouldn’t sound the way a lighthouse on the shore looks to the crew lost at sea. But it does, and he turns towards the voice willingly. His hair flickers between several different colours before it settles back in silver and he blinks dark eyes at the young man standing before him. Young still, perhaps, but at least half a decade older than when they last met.

“You said I’d find you here.”

He doesn’t get a chance to respond to that as Yixing crosses the distance between them, capturing him in the hold of two arms and burying a face into his chest. He tenses up entirely, ready to push, to get the hell out of that hold, out of the confinement. But nothing like that happens. Yixing doesn’t even care about his frozen state, not remotely.

“What are you doing?” He asks after a long, tense moment of silence. That’s when the young man lifts his head, arms letting go of him so that hands can take hold of his face and pull it down. Down to meet those lips, down into a storm that has him crashing into the shore despite all the warning lights telling him not to go there. He makes it out breathless and hair the colour of a deep, red wine, blinking in shock.

“Not letting you go,” Yixing says.

 

“You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

Yixing grins, so relaxed and unbothered by his gruff tone of voice that it should annoy him, but it really doesn’t.

“I didn’t know you’d already checked.”

He’s actually speechless for a moment, staring at the man who backed away from him in fear and horror last time they met. His expression causes Yixing to laugh, which in turn causes him to frown.

“Oh, don’t make that face at me, I know you like to joke.”

And he does. He really does. How many jokes has he exchanged with Gabriel? How many times has he poked fun at Lilith or Michael? Driven Persephone to the point of tears and Hades to grudging amusement at his own expense? How long ago since the last time, though?

“You know too much about me,” he says, but it’s not as much of a complaint as it may seem. “I know nothing of you. Tell me everything.”

Yixing smiles, but for the first time there is sadness in the lines of his face again. “What there is to know about me, you know. Everything I’ve lost, you have taken from me. Everything I’ve gained, you have helped give to me.”

They both grow quiet after those words, each lost in their own thoughts.

 

“Take me with you.”

He’s about to protest, but Yixing is quicker.

“You can, I know you can. You’ve done it before. Or will do it in the future, whatever. But it is possible. Just take me with you today.”

There’s a long silence. There are always long silences when he has to make a decision. Eventually he reaches out a hand, and watches Yixing take it without hesitation.

“I don’t think I can, but if you say so…”

He turns around, stepping out of the world of the living and taking Yixing with him like he would any other soul.

 

“Yixing!”

Gabriel’s eyes brighten, his entire face lights up with delight at the sight of him. It’s such a long time ago this happens that he would be confused if not for the name called out indicating who the happiness is really for. He turns to look at his side and there he is, the young man with the golden-brown eyes, grinning back happily at the angel.

“It has been too long, my friend,” Gabriel says as they embrace, and he watches with slightly narrowed eyes the way Yixing acts like this is something that happens to him all the time.

“I know. It’s hard to get a hold of this one sometimes,” Yixing agrees easily, looking over at him with a smile. His eyes are still narrowed, but Yixing’s fingers have not slipped out of his grip yet, keeping hold of him tightly as if he is the only thing keeping the man grounded. Perhaps he is. Perhaps if he lets go, Yixing is pulled right back home to where he belongs.

Or maybe if he does, Yixing will die.

He tightens his hold ever so slightly, watching the angel and the man interact.

 

He can’t actually gather people with Yixing alongside, so he simply makes a it a little tour, taking Yixing to meet all of the deities and their creations that he deals with so regularly. The young man is excited with every new trip, greeting the angels like he’s met them several times before, regarding Munkar and Nakir with fascination and Yamaraja with a reverence that befits the god’s stature.

“I’ve never met Lilith before,” Yixing says as they prepare to head to their last stop. “You said it wasn’t the best idea.” The words make him scoff.

“If you can handle me, you should be able to handle a bit of fallen angel like her just fine too,” he says, pulling Yixing straight to the neutral realm. He hasn’t fully become aware of his surroundings yet or his reflexes have him snatching a knife out of mid-air, hair colouring silver and black eyes focusing on the fallen angel who threw it.

“Humans aren’t allowed in here, Carver,” she says with venom in her voice, but her posture is already faltering under his gaze. “You especially shouldn’t be bringing _that one_.”

“I bring who I want to bring, Lilith, it’s no business of yours. This is the neutral realm, so we’ll not continue this fight. Unless you raise as much as a finger at him again.”

He watches the fallen angel’s anger rise, but she is smart enough to leave rather than trying anything else.

 

“I can’t believe I met Yamaraja.”

Yixing is nothing but awe, perched atop his sofa as he is, going over the day’s events in that way that only humans seem capable of. Excited about every little thing and disbelieving about all the others despite having lived through it themselves.

“Well, I don’t know what you want me to say to that,” he responds without much emotion altogether, and it causes the man to look at him, eyebrows drawn together. Not much later, a smile breaks through on his face again, though.

“I was going to ask how you could be so calm about this but then I realised this is just everyday stuff for you. It must be so amazing! Just casually having a chat with the Hindu god of death. Playing cards with the archangels.”

He scoffs. “Archangels don’t play cards. If they did, they’d be marginally more interesting than they currently are. Gabriel’s one of the best of them and even he lives by such rigid standards that I’m surprised he doesn’t have an overstretched spine yet.”

These words bring even more disbelief to Yixing’s expression, before a bout of laughter follows.

“You’re insane, do you know that? Half the world would kill you if they heard you talk about their religion like that.”

He scoffs again.

“I’d like to see them try.”


	5. Reacquaintance

“So… What happens? How do you decide who goes where?”

He closes his eyes, focusing on the feeling of Yixing’s fingers playing with his hair. There is a sense of serenity to these moments by now; a calm inside of him that he can find nowhere else but when he’s lying close to the man.

“I don’t decide anything. People go to the place they believe in. Heaven or hell, one of the many Underworlds, on to be reborn into a new life, oblivion, … Whatever they believe comes after death, even if it is nothing at all, that is where I take them.”

He lifts a hand, letting it come to a rest on Yixing’s leg and absentmindedly running his fingers over the fabric of the man’s jeans.

“Nothing is permanent either. People can believe one thing when they’re young, yet something entirely different when they grow older.”

There’s a chuckle, so he opens his eyes to look up and see what Yixing thinks is so amusing.

“I know how that feels,” the golden-eyed male says with a hint of a smile to his features.

“Love you.”

The smile falters, making way for surprise, and quite a dumbstruck one at that. He reaches out a hand and gently runs the back of his fingers over Yixing’s cheek. The surprise softens back into a smile, this one soft and warm.

“Thank you.”

 

“You seem more peaceful, Deliverer.”

He turns to look at Yamaraja when the words are spoken, eyes tired but a small smile appearing on his features.

“Maybe I am, my old friend. Maybe I am.” He reaches for the food platter, taking one of the many delicacies displayed on it and bringing it to his mouth. His chewing is slow and pensive, but the god does not seem concerned about the silence between them. Neither is he.

“Have you thought about it at all?”

He glances over at the god again, frowning lightly.

“About what?”

“What changed.”

“Oh…”

A pause.

“Not really.”

 

“It’s just so…”

He watches Yixing motion at the air, gesticulating the words that he doesn’t know how to find in his mind. Not that it really matters, Gabriel has a knack of knowing what people want to say when they can’t actually say it.

“I know.” The angel smiles, and he is once again struck by how much more sincere the expression seems when presented to the mortal male than when it is directed towards him. He wants to turn away, not look at this exchange between friends, wants to retreat back into his own bubble so he doesn’t have to deal with all of this.

For a split second, he wants to just let go of Yixing’s hand.

He closes his eyes instead, so at least he doesn’t have to see more of these bits of proof that the two have grown tremendously close over such a short time. He has never been this chummy with Gabriel, despite the way they used to joke. He’s never had this level of comfort and ease with the angel. He’d be a lot happier if he could stop being privy to their friendship, so he doesn’t have to deal with the emotions that accompany it.

It takes him a while to realise the silence around him is absolute, that there is nothing more going on for him to be privy to, apparently. He opens his eyes with a start, automatically tightening the grip of his fingers, suddenly terrified that he might have let go of Yixing’s hand.

Both human and angel stand looking at him with worried faces, but Yixing’s is already shifting to relief.

“You’re back. What happened?”

He looks from the mortal to the angel and back but has no explanation for them.

 

There is a tentative, trembling hand reached out, put in his hesitantly at first but then more firmly. He allows his fingers to close around it, a soft smile on his face as he looks down at the child.

“Come now, my dear, let’s take you to better places.”

These are the ones he enjoys the most. The little children, free of pain and horror, free of religious influence so far, who have the most interesting ideas of what happens after a person dies. As he pulls the young soul from the living world and into whichever afterlife is presented to him for her, he let’s go of any expectations.

He steps out onto a grassy plane, brightly coloured flowers of all kinds all around. A cartoon unicorn frolics through the meadow without a care, birds and squirrels and other cute little critters wander all around. A curious baby deer sniffs the girl’s arm and she giggles, reaching out to pet the animal.

“Here you are,” he says in a low voice, still smiling. “You don’t have to worry about a thing anymore.”

The last word of his sentence is drowned out by a sudden cry that has all the animals storming off. He frowns instantly, hair colouring silver as he prepares for the threat that shouldn’t exist in a world like this. Nothing could prepare him for the velociraptor that charges out of the trees, but he is even less prepared for the way the girl squeals in delight and runs over to it.

He gets to watch the girl pet the usually dangerous creature, gets to watch it making purring sounds at her touch and then allow her to climb up. The girl gives him a little wave, and then the duo is off, leaving him standing there totally dumbstruck.

 

He hasn’t been back to see Yixing since that day with Gabriel. He’s been doing his job and doing it thoroughly, guiding souls to their final destination one after the other. He hardly pays attention anymore where he’s going, simply following wherever he is pulled and finding the right features for his duty when he finds out who exactly he’s guiding.

This time it’s blond locks that peek out from underneath the hood as he steps inside the building. It’s a modest little house in a little village, nothing big, nothing fancy. He pulls down his hood once he’s out of sight, allowing the cloak to disappear into nothingness, revealing a regular shirt and pants to go with the look of a kind young man.

“You’re back.”

He stops dead in his tracks, freezing up as that voice brings him to a full stop instantly. His head turns automatically towards the speaker, finding a young man there, at least a full decade younger than the last time they met. He swallows hard, looks down at the bed where an old woman is currently asleep, halfway done living. Then he looks back up at Yixing.

_It all started when you came to get my nana._

Could it be that he is there now, at the very beginning of whatever it is they shared?

“I’m back.”

Yixing starts to smile then, a soft smile that he knows very well on the one hand but that is entirely new on the other, because it lacks that fondness. Somehow it feels refreshing, to be the one with more knowledge of their connection this time around.

He smiles back.

 

“Will you come back after you take her?”

He raises his eyebrows lightly in surprise and Yixing’s cheeks colour. He forgot how adorable the young man was before that one particular night in which he scared him off thoroughly.

“I’d like to just… Talk to you a little?” He allows a small, smug smile to come back to his features but with his current looks it doesn’t appear threatening at all and instead reaches its goal of making Yixing smile once again too.

He turns back to the business at hand without another word, disappearing entirely again into the plane of souls, speaking to the woman in a soft voice, taking her hand and guiding her on to the next part. She doesn’t so much as glance at her grandson, doesn’t have a single regret as she leaves it all behind. Like so many older people, she is ready to have it over with.

He doesn’t know what he feels when he guides her over to Gabriel, doesn’t know what to think when he arrives and finds Uriel instead of his old friend. But it doesn’t matter, because he simply sets the old woman on her path, then leaves it all behind again within moments.

 

Yixing’s hand is soft and warm as he holds it, a welcome tether to the mortal plane. As used as he has gotten to the name he’s been given, it’s strange to be nameless again around the male, feeling himself expand back out into the numerous possibilities of what he could be.

For the first time since meeting the boy, he starts to truly realise how off his experience of time is. He’s been a near century into the future, has been several decades into the future, and now he’s back to this point that seems so far away in his past. So which is the actual now? Where should he really be focusing his attention? When is he supposed to be?

“So do you have to do this every day?” Yixing asks, and he hums a noncommittal sort of response. He feels the fingers tighten around his ever so slightly. “I’m sorry. That must be such a heavy burden to carry.”

It’s actual, true empathy, the kind of which he hasn’t come across in a long time, and it slips into him with practiced precision, bypassing all of his defences to settle right in that empty little spot at the very centre of him.

“It’s alright,” he still replies, more focused on that sliver of warmth he suddenly holds than on anything else. “I’m used to it.”

Yixing looks at him, a small frown on those perfectly balanced features.

“You shouldn’t be.”

He starts, follows the jolt as it goes through his body and lets it move him forward. There is no time nor space, no right nor wrong, as he steals the boy’s first kiss like his own had been stolen.

There is no hesitation in Yixing as he kisses back.

 

His fingers run soothing circles over the young man’s scalp, automatically reminding him of the times when Yixing used to do that to him. He breathes slowly, long inhales and exhales in a rhythmic pattern that manage not to disturb the boy halfway asleep on top of him. He keeps his arm protectively around the young male, grateful for the umpteenth time that his hair is blond and his eyes a chocolate brown.

“Will you show me?” Yixing suddenly mumbles, a sleepy sound that indicates the boy was halfway gone already when this thought struck him. “Will you show me what it is you do?”

He wants to decline, thinks of the many horrible places he visits, the horrible things he sometimes does. But then he remembers the visits and he remembers the enthusiasm with which the Yixing he first met spoke of them.

“I can take you to see Gabriel, if you’d like.”

“Gabriel?”

“Arch angel Gabriel, he’s the gatekeeper of sorts in his realm. I think you’d like him.”

Yixing lifts his head, looking at him with wide eyes, disbelief written all over his features, until it slowly turns into realisation, then acceptance, and then excitement.

“Yes please.”

 

The arch angel looks at them in utter surprise for a few moments, and it’s the first time he can remember catching Gabriel off guard. But when he steps forward and calmly comes to a stop across from the all too familiar desk, the smile is quickly brought back to the angel’s features, albeit still a little hesitant. He remembers the last time this Gabriel has seen him is when he just found out about his own humanity and got a little upset.

Somehow it feels satisfying to put on a smile, allow the boyish charm of his current looks to make it seem all the more genuine, and give a slight head motion towards the young man at his side.

“Gabriel, this is Yixing. Yixing, Gabriel.”

He watches Yixing look at Gabriel with eyes wide with wonder, watches the way the arch angel looks back with renewed surprise and a level of interest he hasn’t yet seen before.

Then he drinks in the absolute lack of anything even remotely resembling friendship between them as he listens to their hesitant greetings and the way Yixing soon enough stumbles right into his signature questions.


	6. Development

“Where do you think you’d go, if you were to die?”

Persephone looks at him with those reassuring, trusting eyes and he finds it difficult to just wave off the question, no matter how much he wants to. So instead he finds himself actually thinking about the answer.

“I mean, you’ve seen all of the afterlives, you know how it works. So where do you think you’d go since you believe in … everything?”

It’s a good question, one that deserves a proper answer, but he still can’t help himself from looking up at the goddess of the Greek underworld and smiling lightly.

“I don’t think I can still die, my dear.”

She huffs, then rolls her eyes at him. “I already have a snarky husband, I don’t need you to follow in his footsteps, Cerberus,” she scolds, but there is amusement in her expression nonetheless. “Humour me.”

He allows her gaze to hold his for a little while longer, then shakes his head.

“I don’t know, my Queen, I’ve never thought about it before.” A pause as he watches disappointment trickle into the goddess’ expression. He sighs and gives in. “Let me give it some thought, and I will tell you next time.”

It’s curious how much he will do to make sure that smile stays on her features.

 

He doesn’t beeline straight for it, but it is the only place he feels he could find the answer, so he eventually finds him there, seated next to the god.

“What do you think?” He asks, trying his best not to sound too eager for the answer. “Where do you think I’d go, were I to die?”

Yamaraja doesn’t look over, but he knows the attention is on him from the slightest shift in the god’s position.

“You should know that better than me, Deliverer, you know the rules.”

“Yes, a human’s beliefs dictate where they will go in the afterlife. You did say I am human, but I can’t be a normal one, can I, considering I have already been around for thousands of years.”

There’s no sign of disagreement from the god, and still, somehow, he knows that Yama does not entirely agree with him. However, as long as the god does not speak, he can’t know which part exactly is being disagreed with, so he waits in silence. Eventually Yamaraja shifts, breaking his meditation to look down at him.

“You have, but only in your capacity as deliverer, my friend.”

The words bring a complete blankness into his mind, until he truly thinks them over and then he is suddenly doing his utter best to keep his hands from trembling.

“Are you… Are you saying _this_ is what I believed would come after death?”

 

He contemplates his new reality for a long time, lost in thoughts so often that he has even showed up to the wrong afterlife with a soul once. Luckily it wasn’t all too hard to steer the soul to the right place, but it still feels like a blemish on his otherwise clean slate of delivery.

“How come you’re so different almost every time we meet?”

He starts slightly, turning to look at the human by his side, then can’t keep himself from breathing out a smile.

“My grip on time isn’t what it used to be anymore,” he says quietly. “I don’t always follow it chronologically and it’s making things harder on the people I come across. Sometimes you meet this me, sometimes one with less knowledge, sometimes a more experienced one. I won’t always know who you are right away, and the me you meet might not always have lived through this already.”

Yixing’s expression turns sad for a moment, then it is replaced with a hopeful one.

“Can’t I just tell you? If I meet the you who doesn’t know yet, can’t I just explain everything?”

He shivers, pure instinct letting him know that this is one of the lesser ideas the young man has come up with so far and he quietly shakes his head.

“No, that would not be a good idea.”

 

“I saw you yesterday,” Yixing suddenly says one day, when they’re sitting in front of the television together, looking at whatever program is on this time around. “You were sitting in the grass looking up at the stars, I went to sit with you.”

His memory ripples with recognition and he picks the scene out of a multitude quite easily.

“I remember that,” he responds quietly, a tiny smile creeping up on him. “We were holding hands. You told me to come find you because I shouldn’t be alone.”

The young man’s expression brightens with the proof that he remembers, excitement flickering over those features that he almost knows by heart right now.

“Did you?” Yixing asks, eager for more information.

He thinks back to their next meeting, the way Yixing had pulled him inside and kissed him square on the mouth. The shock upon realising he wasn’t _that_ version of himself. The other parts of conversation they had. He’s still got time until Yixing turns the age he was then, but there are still many things he should explain too.

“Yes,” he replies after a moment, looking down at the young man’s face and bringing up a hand to gently stroke over his cheek. “Eventually.”

 

Over the meetings that follow, he tells Yixing a little more about the time displacement, about how he has no control over it, but also how he didn’t know it was happening in the very beginning. He talks more about the different realms beyond life, about who lives where, and which names people know him by.

He explains to Yixing the things that still confuse him and wishes there were someone who could explain everything to him in such easy and simple terms. Then he realises that even if someone would explain, who’s to say he would believe it as readily as Yixing accepts everything he is told?

He continues to guide souls yet spend time with the mortal male as well, intertwining these two separate lifestyles so easily that it almost feels like he’s never done it differently.

Throughout it all, he makes double sure never to encounter Yixing again when he’s taking one of the bad souls away. Yet in the back of his mind he remains continuously aware of how much closer they continue to drift towards the age at which the mortal has witnessed him like that.

And he wonders how he is supposed to remedy that.

 

It’s the fourth day in a row he shows up at Yixing’s house, knocking on the door and being greeted by the boy’s bright smile and doting eyes, when he realises exactly at which point in the mortal’s life they are now. He remembers that day all too well but doesn’t feel like he should do anything to change what happened, so he keeps his silence on the subject matter.

Yixing, unaware of any future developments, throws himself into his arms and he finds that fact brings a smile to his face automatically these days, that it brings a little ball of warmth into his chest.

“I like seeing you often like this,” Yixing says, tone quieter but laced with honesty. He finds himself lifting hands to gently lift the young man’s face so he can kiss him a while. When they come apart, Yixing is slightly breathless but not done talking anyway. “It makes me feel like it’s actually something real that we’ve got going on.”

If he had a beating heart, it would’ve stopped just then. Or maybe he does have one and it did stop, he’s not entirely sure. He just knows that when he manages to control his expression again, Yixing’s has already turned regretful.

“I shouldn’t have said that, right? I’m sorry. Forget I said that,” the young man tells him, motioning his hands as if he’s trying to wave away the question.

“I can’t forget you said that,” he replies easily, allowing the warmth to shift his features again. Whatever he looks like is enough to make Yixing start smiling brightly all over again and that’s fine with him. “Because I like the sound of it.”

 

“Had enough time to think about it?” Persephone is looking at him with those eyes that seem to see right through him and he needs a moment to keep himself from turning away from her. He takes the space of a breath to compose himself, then straightens his shoulders ever so slightly.

“I think I’d always end up back here,” he admits to the one thing that lives both as a fear and a question in his mind. “ _This_ is what I believe in, being what I am. This is what I think there is for me, hence this is what I will always do.”

He watches the way the look in her eyes softens with something that resembles sympathy. A flicker of unease runs through him as he allows her to reach out and gently touch his cheek with her fingers.

“Oh Cerberus,” she says, and in the sigh that follows he hears all of the things she’s not telling him, even though he has no clue what those things are exactly. “I’m sorry you feel that way, my darling. Don’t you want to believe that there’s something more to your existence than this?”

He frowns lightly, but doesn’t pull away, allowing her the touch because he knows she needs it more than he does.

“What’s so bad about this being my existence, though?” He asks, his eyes searching hers for the truthful answer to that question, knowing she won’t actually tell him. “Just like each of you I have my purpose. Just like each of you I live my life fulfilling that purpose. Is it so pathetic that I do?”

She doesn’t answer that question either, and somehow he knows that the things she is not telling him are the most important ones he could ever hear.

 

Yixing’s eyes grow wide at the sight of him, mouth opening but no words coming out, before the door closes again and cuts the boy off from his sight.

It’s wrong. It’s all wrong. He doesn’t recognise the clothes the boy is wearing, but he’s seen the haircut before. _Once_ before. He thought he still had some time before that would happen. He thought he had _months_ , but it appears that he’s skipped right ahead to the moment he dreaded the most.

He walks through the door like it’s non-existent, coming out on the other end and looking at the boy who is still staring at the entrance with wide, fearful eyes. He doesn’t realise how much it pains him that Yixing is unaware of him as of yet until the boy’s eyes suddenly widen even more as they fix on him after all and a sense of hurtful relief fills him.

“It’s okay,” he says, quiet and soothing. “It’s me again. You’re okay. I won’t hurt you.”

It should scare him, how quickly the soft words turn fear into relief and stressed tension into an almost relaxed submission. Yixing crosses the distance between them with a few strides and buries against his chest, and he finds himself automatically lifting his arms to wrap them around the boy, to keep him safe from the demons that lurk in his mind.

He looks down at the boy, then realisation hits him like a freight truck.

 

“Yixing’s going to end up like me.”

He doesn’t ask the question; he says it like a statement, and Yamaraja only glances over at him shortly.

“Yes.”

He has to swallow a few times before he can even speak again.

“Because I showed him. All of this. I made it so that he can never move on properly, so that he will be stuck in between, like me.”

Once again the god glances over at him, only this time for a little longer than before.

“If that is how you would call it, Deliverer.”

Silence falls between them, a thick, heavy thing that presses down on his shoulders and feels like it might suffocate him if he isn’t careful enough.

Then, as if the god has put it in his head, a new thought occurs to him.

“Is that how I ended up like this?”

Once more Yamaraja turns to look his way, only this time there is the slightest hint of emotion in the god’s expression as well.

“Yes.”


End file.
